Where We Burned the Bridge
by LuckyLadybug
Summary: Mr. Waverly is out inspecting the remains of a once-dangerous group. He finds someone else doing the same thing, for a different reason.


**The Man From U.N.C.L.E.**

 **Where We Burned the Bridge**

 **By Lucky_Ladybug**

 **Notes: The characters are not mine and the story is! This is just another little bit of playing in my post-** _ **Odd Man Affair**_ **verse, this time featuring Mr. Waverly, because Mr. Waverly is awesome. And because I still like the idea from my first attempt at doing a storyline with the** _ **Odd Man Affair**_ **characters two or three years ago, where Mr. Waverly was aware before Napoleon and Illya were that those characters were alive and kicking. For some reason, I thought of the encounter in here and found it intriguing. It had to be written.**

The decimation of a dangerous extremist organization was always a matter for celebration. Albert Sully's courageous undercover efforts had brought forth the organization's complete downfall, piece by piece, as he had directed its units to locations where U.N.C.L.E. had been alerted and was waiting. When the final piece was captured by U.N.C.L.E. and the few remaining free and living members fled, Mr. Alexander Waverly himself went out to Paris and London to inspect the remains of the once-powerful group.

Of course, although they tried to keep most of the details of the adventure out of the papers, some news leaked out and citizens gathered to see some of the buildings and homes the organization had used. Many were enthusiastic and happy that such a dangerous group was now inactive, but some were just curious without any serious opinions either way. Certain others, bitter about the destruction of what they deemed a worthwhile organization, either yelled obscenities or kept their opinions to themselves and bided their time until they were ready to make their own mark in the world.

Mr. Waverly, as always, was accompanied by two trusted agents serving as his bodyguards. He was highly impressed by what he saw in both Paris and London. The job had been thorough. Albert Sully, he planned, would receive the very highest commendation for his brave and valuable work.

He was slightly surprised and perhaps a bit suspicious when he pulled up at a London house on Grove and found one lone spectator eyeing the residence despite the fact that everyone else had left. Or perhaps what was more surprising was that, unlike the others he had seen, he recognized this fellow as having been at several of the London stops. Not only that, he also had the feeling he had seen the character before, perhaps in a photograph.

In any case, he felt the matter bore investigating. He carefully climbed out of the car, cane in hand, and approached the stranger. His bodyguards tensed, readying themselves to draw their weapons if need be.

"Hello there. Good evening," Mr. Waverly greeted.

The other man turned, taking in the sight of him in an instant. "Is it now?" he said in a definite Cockney accent.

"For some of us," Mr. Waverly replied. He looked to the house. "Do you have an interest in this building?"

"Not especially," the Cockney grunted. "I just thought I'd see what became of it."

"It was a nesting place for extremists." Mr. Waverly studied his companion out of the corner of his eye, watching closely for his reaction.

"So it was." The Cockney was not surprised or fazed in the least. Of course, he could have read about the group in the paper or seen it on the news, but from the way he was looking at the building, Mr. Waverly suspected another explanation.

"What do you think of that?" Mr. Waverly prompted. "I've seen a wide range of reactions today."

A shrug. "My question to you, Sir, is will what replaces them be any better?"

"I should hope so," Mr. Waverly replied. "Of course, sad to say, sometimes it doesn't always work out that way."

Now the Cockney looked surprised. "A high-rankin' leader who admits to the truth of this ruddy mixed-up world," he said without a trace of mocking. "That's not something you see every day."

"No, I suppose it isn't." Mr. Waverly turned to face him better. "You know who I am?"

"Mr. Alexander Waverly, of course. Of the U.N.C.L.E." The Cockney sounded somewhat bitter now.

"Yes." A nod. "Have you had dealings with U.N.C.L.E. before?"

"You could say that. Both me and my chum did."

"I see. And where is your friend now?"

The Cockney's eyes darkened. "Dead, most likely. I'm on my way to look for him, but I found out about all the excitement in town and thought I'd stop to look in on it."

"Without knowing about your friend?" Mr. Waverly watched him closely. "It would seem that finding out if your friend is alive would be your top priority. Unless perhaps the 'excitement in town' has some bearing on your search for your friend?"

"I just wanted to make sure how dead and gone the organization is," the Cockney told him. "If he _is_ alive, it'd be just as well for them not to know it."

"And what about yourself?" Mr. Waverly asked.

"It'd be better for them not to know that, too."

Mr. Waverly nodded, still not seeming surprised. "So you're both enemies of the organization, then. Yet you're not part of U.N.C.L.E., either. Would you mind if I asked you how you were associated with an extremist group that most others did not know existed?"

The Cockney sneered at him now. "You know, don't you, Waverly? You want me to speak up and confirm it, but you already know."

"Let's say I strongly suspect," Mr. Waverly agreed. "There were two spies in said extremist organization who followed their direct superior's ideas of overthrowing the organization's leadership and replacing it with their own. Each met with a grisly fate."

"And you think that's us. So, just supposin' for the sake of argument you're right, what would you do about it?"

Mr. Waverly regarded him calmly. "I suppose that would depend on what you are planning to do."

"If I find my chum alive, we're getting out of here," the Cockney told him. "Just in case there's any of the organization left, we can't be lettin' them find us. We'll leave England and start over fresh somewhere else."

"And I wouldn't imagine you would try the same line of work," Mr. Waverly remarked.

"I don't think anyone would hire us for that. We'd find something else to do."

"Something non-destructive, I hope."

"Well, now, I couldn't swear to that," the Cockney drawled. "And you know that, too."

"Yes." Mr. Waverly paused. "Would you mind telling me why someone goes about joining an extremist organization in the first place?"

"Now, you should know there's not just one reason why, just like there's never only one reason why someone does anything else," the Cockney shot back. "Why, there's some people who actually thought of that particular organization as some kind of sacred trust." His lip curled in his dark amusement. "They were actually stupid enough to think they could positively change the world by what they were doing."

"But that wasn't what you thought, I suppose."

"Me? Nah. People like me, we join because we're sick and tired of being beat down by life. We figure we owe the world nothing and it owes us nothing. Maybe we're looking for something new. And we figure all governments are corrupt, so what difference does it make joining up with a group that wants to overthrow some of them?"

Mr. Waverly's bushy eyebrows furrowed. "And you cared nothing for those who might be hurt by such actions?"

"People are hurt under every type of government. But if you're feelin' around tryin' to find out exactly what it was I was up to, I was one of the top spies. Mostly I matched wits with opposing spies."

"And what about your friend?"

The Cockney's expression darkened. "He never wanted to be part of the whole ruddy mess. He was forced to, you know, 'cause his parents were both top agents. They were killed and he was groomed to take their place. Even though he was just a kid, the organization never let anyone go. The kids had to grow up in it. They would've been offed, same as anybody else, if they'd tried to get out."

Sickened horror and anger flashed through Mr. Waverly's eyes. As a devoted family man, he could not fully control his revulsion. "Did you know any of that when you joined?"

"No, of course not. I'm not that heartless. But once I was in, heh, I couldn't get out either. And once I met _him,_ well, I didn't even think about trying, unless it was to get us both out. I didn't want to do that, since we'd be running for our lives and that wasn't what I wanted for him. Maybe I should have done it; that's what we'll be doing now anyway.

"He wanted out so badly. That's why he was all for Zed's plot to overthrow the organization's leadership, really; he thought he'd get into a better position and not have anyone other than Zed breathing down his neck. And he wanted to change some of the policies, especially about the organization's orphans." The Cockney sighed and shook his head, suddenly looking tired. "Not that he really could have; I'm sure Zed wouldn't have let him. But he's an odd mix of cynicism and idealism. You'd have to see him to believe it."

Mr. Waverly studied him. "After spending so many years in such an organization, what is your feeling on them now? Surely you've found that extremists are not the same as regular governments."

"One way or another, nobody's got the perfect government," the Cockney said. "There's adults and kids in rotten situations no matter where they are or who's in charge. But . . ." He sighed. "I hate to think of any other kids growing up forced to be spies or assassins or whatever. I saw what that did to him. Still . . . that's the only life he knows. I don't know what kind of work he'd be able to find in the outside world. I couldn't always get a decent job and I _did_ know other kinds of living."

"You may both be able to find legitimate work," Mr. Waverly told him. "There is no current warrant out for either of you, given that you are both officially listed as Deceased." He looked hard at the strange, bitter man. "Your former comrades are not as fortunate. Your present situation actually gives you the upper hand and a chance to fully 'start over fresh,' as you put it. I suggest you don't waste that chance, especially when you seem to care so much about your friend's happiness."

The Cockney looked wary now. "And just why would you give us the chance? Just because you don't have any legal grounds to hold us?"

"Largely. But also because I like seeing a second chance used wisely, when at all possible. In your case, I believe it would be."

The Cockney still wasn't convinced. "If you really know who I am, then you also know about my chum. And you know what we did and what we probably know."

"And that information may prove valuable. If I have need of your knowledge, I would appreciate your willingness to cooperate."

"So it's blackmail then?" The Cockney folded his arms. "You let us go on the condition that we'll talk if you need us?"

"I wouldn't put it quite that way." Mr. Waverly spoke calmly. "Consider it . . . quid pro quo, if you will."

Another sneer. "You're a sly one. Of course, I won't be agreeing to any of this unless my chum is alive and agrees."

"I wouldn't expect it otherwise," Mr. Waverly said. "After all, this decision certainly affects him as well."

The Cockney nodded, then paused. "If you know all of this, you also know why my chum might be dead," he said. "One of your boys stabbed him." Now his eyes were definitely dark.

"Unfortunately something that tends to happen in the spy world," Mr. Waverly said. "And you, I believe, were shot at least twice by one of your comrades in this very house. That must be why you don't know how your friend is doing. You were forced to leave him somewhere while you attended to organization business to keep up appearances. Then you were shot and quite miraculously survived. But you were nursed back to health in a different location without any means of contacting the hospital where you left your friend."

"And do you know what hospital I left him in, by any chance?" Despite the sarcastic tone to the Cockney's voice, he was mostly serious.

"That information escapes me, I admit," said Mr. Waverly.

"Well, at least something's still secret around here." But the Cockney paused, regarding him thoughtfully. "I can see how you became the head of that U.N.C.L.E. thing."

"Keen observational skills and a deductive mind are necessary qualifications for the task." Mr. Waverly met his gaze. "And knowing when it's better to let some things go. Tell me, if your friend is dead, will you come after U.N.C.L.E. to take revenge?"

The query surprised the Cockney and he hesitated, contemplating his answer before responding. "At the time, I tried to," he said. "Seein' him so torn-up just caused something inside to snap. I wouldn't say that, except that you probably already know all about it."

"That's true," Mr. Waverly nodded. "It was in my agents' reports."

"But that was a long time ago now. It's like you say, that sort of thing happens in the spy business. I don't know if I could ever forgive the agent what did it, but I wouldn't set out to kill him."

"Fair enough." Mr. Waverly stepped back, intending to end their conversation.

The other had one more question. "If we can't find legitimate work anywhere else, I don't suppose _you'd_ hire us."

Mr. Waverly considered the query and shook his head. "No. No, I don't think so."

"That's what I figured," the Cockney nodded. "We wouldn't be trusted in any spy organization after betraying the place we were in. Whether you agreed with its purpose would be irrelevant; you wouldn't know if we might betray your set-up as well."

"Exactly right, I'm afraid," Mr. Waverly acknowledged.

"And then there's that little fact that I'm over 40." The Cockney spoke dryly, using his forefinger and thumb to illustrate _little_. "And I ain't no desk sergeant, I'll tell you that."

"Well, truthfully, Mr. Sully's performance, as well as certain others', have convinced me that perhaps that policy should be modified," Mr. Waverly said. "If an agent over 40 continues to be physically fit enough to be a field agent, and still wants to be one, perhaps he should be given that opportunity."

"I think so," the Cockney told him. "You're behind the times not to allow it."

"Yes, I suppose so.

"And now I will let you go about looking for your friend. And . . ." Mr. Waverly held out a hand. "Good luck to both of you."

Momentarily stunned, the Cockney slowly took Mr. Waverly's hand and shook it. "Thank you, Mr. Waverly. I've always heard you're a fair man, so I'll trust you're on the level. I won't forget this." He took a step back and turned, vanishing into the shadows around the house.

"Oh!"

Mr. Waverly turned, hearing the stunned cry. Bryn Watson had just driven up and was exiting her car, staring after the vanishing spy. Even in the oncoming night, she looked sheet-white.

"Why, whatever is the matter, Mrs. Watson?" Mr. Waverly asked.

"That man," Bryn gasped, pointing. "That was Mr. Wye."

"Yes, I know," said Mr. Waverly. "Don't concern yourself over him, Mrs. Watson. That matter has been taken care of."

"I see," Bryn said slowly, although she didn't at all.

"I believe Mr. Wye is still listed as Deceased in U.N.C.L.E.'s files," Mr. Waverly said calmly as he approached her. "As Mr. Wye was an agent for the organization that is now destroyed, that information is still technically true, wouldn't you say?"

Bryn frowned. "Well, I suppose, if that's how you want it, Sir. But . . ."

"He won't come after you, Mrs. Watson, or your children," Mr. Waverly assured her. "His assault on you in the past was more emotional reflex than anything else. His only desire now is to start a new life elsewhere, or more precisely, to see that someone he cares about has that chance. Now." He laid his hand on the car door. "What was it you came here to see?"

"Just the end of an era," Bryn replied. "I wanted to see for myself what Bert accomplished."

"You can be very proud of Mr. Sully," Mr. Waverly declared. "Without him, this extremist organization would no doubt still be going strong."

"I _am_ proud of him, Mr. Waverly," Bryn said. "But I haven't seen him yet today. Where is he?"

"Quite safe, I assure you, and very anxious to see you as well," Mr. Waverly said. "He's tying up loose ends in Paris."

Around the back of the house, Mr. Wye listened as their voices grew farther away and finally faded into the night. It _was_ the end of an era, it was true. And hopefully, with any luck, the beginning of a better one.

He took off running again, leaving the shadow of the organization behind.


End file.
